


Bought It

by Astronaut_Milky



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Pining, Regret, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 04:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17015562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronaut_Milky/pseuds/Astronaut_Milky
Summary: He takes the stinging wind, clawing and dry. He takes the cigarette in his fingers, long-forgotten, threatening to burn his skin, to reach the familiar callouses of past burns. He takes the temporary relief of hard liquor, designed to ease the ache, only to curse him with further pain. A welcomed curse. A deserved curse.





	Bought It

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyyy hey hey wassup guys, it's been practically a MILLENIA.
> 
> So, here's the deal with this...
> 
> I listened to this song, right? It's called Bought It by Middle Kids, and let me tell you, this band are fucking fantastic. Not only that, but this song just spoke to me as a Barisi song.
> 
> BUT I haven't felt inspired to write for so long, mostly because I started a new job as an assistant in a talent management agency, so I've been super busy, all while recovering from my poor mental health from my last job.
> 
> Now that I'm feeling hella better though, I decided to word vomit this? Super unbeta'd, and I defs wrote it in maybe an hour and a half? With no proofread? So be kind (but also kudos pls
> 
> And now, enjoy my angst!! It's been a while! x

Ice clings to his eyelashes, a punishment, well-deserved and not nearly brutal enough. Nothing will ever be enough. He's contemplated a quick death on more than one occasion, an escape from the torment inside, but it's just not enough. 

 

So instead he takes the little punishments. He takes the stinging wind, clawing and dry. He takes the cigarette in his fingers, long-forgotten, threatening to burn his skin, to reach the familiar callouses of past burns. He takes the temporary relief of hard liquor, designed to ease the ache, only to curse him with further pain. A welcomed curse. A deserved curse.

 

He blinks three times, before letting his eyes close. They burn, begging to be allowed to rest.

 

Rafael doesn't sleep much anymore. 

 

He doesn't do much of anything.

 

Sure, he works. The irony that he is now a professor in Hudson's law department is not lost on him. But his work does not calm the swirling storm inside. It merely masks it from the world. He presents his lectures, he marks his exams, all the while his soul threatens to spill out, to reveal his worst self.

 

When he's not working though, he's drinking. Drinking, and smoking, and numbing himself to a pain he simultaneously believes he deserves.

 

He won't take a quick death, but he'll aid his demise in every way he can.

 

It's January 31st, and for the past two years he's spent this day in a drunken stupor, even more so than any other day of the year.

 

The blackness twirling in front of his closed eyes has his brain spinning. Then from that blackness, he sees a small hand, stiffening as death claims its owner. 

 

His eyes fling open, locking onto the clock above the bar.

 

Three a.m.

 

He's been here since six, in and out, to the cold for a cancerous cigarette, to the warmth for more drinks than he should have. But nothing stops him from seeing that little hand in his minds eye.

 

Three a.m.

 

The bartender is giving him a look filled with a sorry sympathy that he doesn't deserve. Bile threatens to claw up his throat. It's home time.

 

Rafael stumbles from the bar, his hand already shoved into his pocket, desperate for the next burning drag of a hand-rolled cigarette.

 

Instead, he's left with an empty plastic bag and a vague memory of enjoying one last death stick.

 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself, at the world, and curses the traitorous tears that are desperate for release.

 

“You've always been one for words.”

 

If Rafael was still a gambling man, he'd bet his minimal life savings that this is a dream, or that Death has finally come to claim his soul, to drag him to hell.

 

Because there's no way that Sonny is here.

 

“You're like clockwork, Raf. Predictable.”

 

Somehow, his head has found the ancient brick wall outside the dingy bar, resting against the cold. He shakes his head, skin scraping against the rough.

 

“Always the same day, always the same bar, always stumbling at three a.m.”

 

He blinks quickly, and tries to block out the sound of familiar footsteps upon the crunchy snow.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

The fight leaves his body as he finally tilts his head, looking up into icy blue, a fitting image as the skies begin to cry white snowflakes.

 

“I'm fine,” he grits, though his attempt at smooth sobriety doesn't reach his voice, groggy and slurring. “Never been better.”

 

“Which is why you called me at two in the morning?” The drawl is homely, a softness present that Rafael has never deserved.

 

He blinks, his eyes clinging to the sweet relief of being closed. He flutters them open, forcing them to remain alive. He vaguely remembers punching in the number he'd deleted long ago from his phone, though somehow it remained in his mind.

 

“Must have called from my pocket,” he mumbles, finally lifting his head away from the brick. The world spins, but Rafael clenches his fist, willing himself to remain sturdy. “Sorry.”

 

He wants to reach out. He wants to be blessed with even the most feather-light touch of Sonny's sweet fingers. He wants to shout, to cry, to ask every question on the tip of his tongue.

 

He wants to be worthy.

 

He's not.

 

So instead he sniffs, the cold finally hitting him, and steps away.

 

“I'll just-” 

 

It's almost in slow motion as his foot steps onto unseen ice, and slips out from under him.

 

He's not quite sure what happens next, not until his eyes are locked onto the twinkling of Sonny's eyes, surrounded by the purple sky.

 

He can feel strong hands cupping his cheeks, warm and forgiving.

 

“Hey, you okay?”

 

Rafael can't stop the words from escaping his lips.

 

“I just fell ass over, and you ask if I'm okay? That level of perceptiveness, you should be a detective.”

 

For a moment, Rafael believes Sonny will flee, will abandon the bitter old man before him.

 

Instead his eyes crinkle, as the most wonderful of smiles graces his lips. It's an exquisite sight. It's something Rafael is wholly undeserving of.

 

“See? Predictable.”

 

“I…” it comes out as barely a whisper, but it's out there, and Rafael knows what he should say next. An apology or an admission. “I should go.”

 

He tries to escape, but the hours of whisky have finally taken a toll, weighing down his joints with guilt.

 

“Relax,” he hears, a tender murmur.

 

Arms circle him, pulling him close. 

 

Rafael finds himself sitting against the wall, his head on Sonny's shoulder, his body held by Sonny's own.

 

New York City stills for a moment. The city that never sleeps, allows these two men to have their moment. Their time to exist in a tableau of forgotten perfection. Rafael silently pleads for death to take him, for nothing could be better after this time.

 

“I wish…” he finally croaks, his throat dry from nerves and dehydration. He can hear Sonny's breath hitch, the first and only sign that he's just as terrified of this electricity that has always kept their souls connected. “I wish we had never met. I wish that our first moment was something… something normal.”

 

Lips press against his hair. “But we've never been normal.”

 

“If we had met normal though,” Rafael lets out, his heart finally cracking open for Sonny to see. “If we had met at a Sunday market… you had just left church with your Ma, I had just left church with my Mami… if we had bumped elbows reaching for the tomatoes…”

 

“If I had apologised, and you had tried to be mad, but couldn't be.”

 

“Why wouldn't I have been mad?”

 

“Because you would've been lost in my eyes.”

 

Rafael feels that familiar smile against his head.

 

“It's true, I would have been.”

 

When Rafael's eyes shut this time, he sees something new. 

 

He sees Sonny's hand in his as they leave a movie, arguing over whether it was actually good.  _ “Just because there's a Hemsworth, doesn't mean it's good.” _

 

He sees the two of them, slow dancing under a street light to the sound of jazz from someone's third floor apartment.  _ “Rafael, will you…” _

 

He sees himself shoving chocolate cake with a white frosting, into Sonny's mouth, smearing it over his lips, rejoicing in the hearty laugh coming from Sonny.  _ “I do, Rafael. Forever.” _

 

He sees golden rings, gracing their fingers, binding their love for the rest of their days.

 

He opens his eyes.

 

There's a golden ring on Sonny's finger, but none on his own.

 

“I'm sorry,” Sonny whispers, his voice choked and broken. “I couldn't wait-”

 

“Nor did I expect you to.” It comes out quicker than he wants, but if he spoke any slower, the tears would follow.

 

They should leave.

 

He should leave.

 

But he indulges himself in the fantasy of being enough for Sonny, just for a little bit longer.

 

When Sonny finally moves, it's to reach into his pocket. His arm never leaves Rafael's shoulders, as if he's too scared to let him go. At least, Rafael lets himself believe that.

 

From there, he pulls out his wallet.

 

“I thought I'd never forgive you,” Sonny confesses, sliding a photograph from the folds of the black leather. “I spent months glaring at this photo, begging myself to tear it up.”

 

It's a photo of the two of them, yellowed with time, worn down from countless hours of near destruction at the hands of Sonny's heartbreak.

 

“I’m surprised you didn't.”

 

“I figured I'd regret it.”

 

“Do you regret keeping it?”

 

Sonny tenses up, his hand shaking. 

 

Silently, he passes the photo to Rafael, and with it his regret.

 

They could whisper more apologies, more regrets, more wishes.

 

They could spend an eternity figuring out how they lost each other.

 

They could have one final goodbye.

 

But the charade has gone on long enough. 

 

Sonny has to move on, and Rafael knows this.

 

Rafael has to live with his guilt, and Sonny knows this.

 

Sonny's always known what Rafael needs. The ultimate blessing and curse of their ill-fated romance.

 

It's with this utterly painful silence that Sonny steps away into the night.

 

He won't call Rafael tomorrow.

 

He won't text in a few months to catch up for coffee.

 

He won't stop by the office in a year, just to make sure Rafael's alive.

 

Rafael knows this.

 

So Rafael clutches onto the last part of Sonny that Sonny was willing to give over, and drags himself from the ground.

 

The skies cry white snowflakes, complimenting the hot tears painting lines of heartache down his cheeks.

 

It's what he deserves.


End file.
